life in suburbia,
where the dogs sniff the grass
and sniff again
and the men of the households on their riding mowers
shave perfectly straight lines
in the perfectly square yards
and there is no fenced line to know
where one yard begins and another ends
someone is cutting their grass now,
yesterday it was the neighbor to the right,
the day before, the neighbor to the left
there must be a schedule
each one sitting lifeless and stiff
riding back and forth
the planes take off from the airport every 26 minutes
and don’t make a sound
the grass in the yard is blowing like ocean waves
these country roads have much more traffic than during the week,
everyone running the errands they couldn’t get to while at work
the yellow-jackets are swarming the glass door,
although more sluggish in the cool air
and the men of the household will finish in the yard
before they retire to the dining room for pot-roast
and the Saturday evening movie
